The Adventures of R Company
by Forohe Toxophilus
Summary: And their crazy dog that does not exist! Okay, there's no dog mentioned. Since I can't summarize, please, just R&R if you like comedy. This is loosely inspired by RvB, but not like it. T for sexual themes, language and violence.
1. Chapter 1 Our new hell home!

_From the eyes of Lance Corporal Jones_.

As my Hornet came closer to the base, I could definitely see that it'd been _completely_ ignored for the last year or two. And I knew that I did not like the looks of it. It looked, empty, without soul. My God, it looked just desolate. The wall was ruined, the forward bunker was decimated and there were no vehicles from my standpoint.

A shudder came from the engines of the Hornet I was on and it began to descend, a full three-hundred meters before the entry to the base.

"Hey!" a voice came over my headset, obviously annoyed. "Why aren't we setting down at base?" It was Captain Marks. He was definitely not in a good mood since he was transferred to our company. In fact, our company was compromised of eight soldiers. _I_ was not happy about that either. Not enough for _any _company to efficiently function.

"This is as far as we go sir. There's an icicles chance in hell that we're gonna fly any closer to that freaking base."

_That_ wasn't going to go over well with the Captain.

"What the hell are you talking about Lieutenant?" Captain demanded, rather irritated at this factor.

"You've got legs sir. Use them."

The Hornets set down and set us off. I hefted my sniper rifle and hopped off the wing of the one I was riding on and watched it take off again once Private Ceteria was off.

She was a nice girl. As one of her squads' assault-riflemen, she'd been trained to keep her head better than most people. She'd become quite sardonic in late though, and was quite vocal about it. If there was something that sounded dumb, or suicidal to her, we'd know about it pretty quick, unless we were under radio silence. Then you'd know right after we'd lift it.

"Okay, see you in four months." The pilot gave a short wave as he revved his engines, in preparation to take off.

"What are ye seein' us again faer?" asked Sergeant Lachlan, in his typical Scottish… speech, I suppose. If that's what you want to call it. You could barely understand him if you really got him going at something. It was actually rather funny sometimes.

"Supply drop. See you then," the pilot replied and took off, following his two partners, leaving us to ourselves on our soon to be hell-hole… I mean home. Sorry, I was getting too far ahead of myself.

"Great," I grumbled, loud enough only for Private Hasana to hear me. I could tell she was the only one because only she laughed. No one else did. She was a good little lady. Compared to Ceteria, she was almost a foot shorter. But boy did that girl have a _nice_ form…

Dyaah, yea, sorry. I'll keep my personal thoughts to myself from now on. Okay, I'll _try _to.

"Okay, let's clear the LZ. Move out!" ordered Captain, as he lifted up his assault rifle and started up the hill, towards the base.

Lieutenant Alessandro turned to me and motioned to the back of our little pack. "You're rearguard Jones. Callahan, take point! Everyone, stay alert. I don't like this place already."

A collective, tired, "Yes sir," was emitted from everyone, except for Captain of course.

I was kind of angry. Just because I was the best shot of the group shouldn't mean I have to be rearguard all the time. That's just dumb. And I'm always about ten meters behind everyone. That's the kicker.

I saw our group form up, with Callahan at the front. I knew exactly why I was always told to watch our backs. Because me and Callahan were from the same company before this. I would always keep him alive, he was my best friend. Albeit, he was slightly crazy after our encounter with the flood on… well, the planets name escapes me at the moment, but anyways… back to what I was saying. Ah yes, here we go. Yes, he's a little crazy, but he always remembers me, and will follow me anywhere. The only person I fully trust on this team is Callahan, 'cause I'll always have his back and he'll always have mine. That's why I'm sent back to cover us from afar.

I know, a lengthy description for something that you could care less about. Get over it.

We advanced quickly once we were in order, taking advantage of every piece of cover that we could as we made our way up to the base, in anticipation of an ambush. Callahan always would move as fast as he could so that nothing could take advantage of him, as long as he was faster than it. And he generally was faster than anything. Other than vehicles, but those he could dodge, as we would find out later on.

I caught sight of something out of the corner of my eye, and I immediately swept up my sniper rifle to focus upon it. But nothing was there.

"Huh," I mumbled, dismissing it as a flicker of my memory from whatever that planet was that Callahan and I fought the flood on.

It wasn't all that long ago actually. You see… okay, to make a long story short, we ended up _accidentally_ shooting our superior officer in the back.

Eighteen times.

With a shotgun and a sniper rifle.

Three clips from my sniper rifle and six slugs from Callahan's shotgun, if you're nitpicky and wanted to know.

…

It was _completely accidental,_ I swear!

I swear a lot actually. It's one of my hobbies…

Right! Back to story…

I saw a shape and dismissed it as a figment of my imagination, yes? Yeah, that's what I was just talking about.

Callahan moved up, sweeping the area with his two SMG's before informing us, "The chickens aren't in the coop,"

"Jones, translate," Captain ordered me. I hate it when people can't see logical things like this…

"It's all clear. And it's all clear back here too."

"…Right. Ceteria, move in, flanking Callahan. Lt, you go with them. Jones, you and Gautier are with me," Captain directed, motioning for me to follow him. "Lt, take your team and enter through that break in the wall. We'll go through the bunker. Move it!"

I followed my French squad-mate as close as I felt necessary. I never liked the guy, and personally, I think he has too much B/O, if you know what I'm saying. And if you don't, he smells like he never cleaned his boxers after watching 'Lesbian Spank Inferno'.

…Not that I would know what that would smell like. It's just a guess.

I'm serious, I've never seen that movie, or ever smelt the smell of unclean boxers, _ever_ before. Seriously.

I'm, _not_, lying.

Oh, wait. Story. Get back to, right? You don't really care for lesbians? Okay, I know I don't. What's the point of watching something that you'll never be part of, am I right my male friends? Now, if they're bi, there's a different story right there, am I right? I am right my friends, I am ri-

STORY! GET BACK TO IT YOU PERVERTED FREAK!

…

Sorry, sometimes I do that.

Anyways, Gautier and his smelly boxers were, _thankfully_, upwind of me, so I couldn't smell it. Captain obviously could though, and turned to talk to him.

"Gautier," he said, trying not to seem like he was holding his breath from the hellish eternal stench released via the French private's boxers. Or armpits. I could never tell which one was which.

You ever get that? When you can't figure out where someone's B/O is coming from? It could be their armpits, their ass-crack, their feet, their shoes, their crotch…

_Son of a Bitch! Why am I saying this? Mother of God, snap out of it!_

Okay, back to normal now.

No, really, I am. No more going off on random subjects anymore.

Anyways. Gautier, right. Did I mention I hate that guy?

"Gautier, I need you to go to the hole in the bunker and advance slowly into there, making sure our backs are covered. Keep an eye out the entry way once we're inside."

Gautier nodded and lifted his head up proudly. "Of course! I shall be ze perfection of military standards, sir. I will uphold a soldier's honour as I advance into the bunker in ze most official of military traditions sir. I shall…"

And this went on for another three minutes. Out of that, I caught a lot more 'Soldier's honour', and 'Military official-ness' out of him, along with the occasional _Viva le France!_

Okay, the _Viva le France_ wasn't really said, but you get the picture right? The most uptight guy in the company, the most concerned with honour and the pride of a nation that could be taken over by a Las Vegas casino's security force. Unless the French were under Napoleon. Now, if you want to talk about great strategists, he was one of them. Except for the small fiasco with Russia, resulting in one of the greatest losses of soldiers to the weather in history. Guess who didn't play risk as a kid… Asia held seven extra units per turn, but you could never hold onto it could you…

Story, back to, now-ish, less side-tracking, gotcha. I'm giving you thumbs up. And a smile.

Really, I'm fine. I just go on tangents occasionally.

Anywho… Gautier moved away from us to take on the horrors of the bunker, (_Thank you God_) while Captain and me moved up towards the entry of the base from above. Captain moved over and stood to one side, while I pulled out my battle rifle and aimed down towards the hatch.

"Ready… opening hatch!"

Captain swung open the hatch and flipped his pistol into it. I aimed down and saw…

Absolutely nothing.

Okay, so saying that I saw nothing is not entirely true. I saw concrete. A very gray shade of concrete. It defined the term 'gray'.

Or is it 'grey'? I've never been able to find out. No seriously guys, I 'm totally lost here. Is it 'Gray', or is it 'Grey'? I want some answers.

_You will get back to the story or I will rip your eyes out._

Yep, yep, I'm getting back to my story.

I dropped in and rolled into a position that covered the doorway that Gautier didn't have covered. Again, much grey concrete. Yes, I'm going to interchangeably use those terms until I get my answer. Please, address your reply to '_LCPL Jones_' in your review.

Captain dropped in behind me, grunting slightly as he landed, covering the opposite direction with his pistol.

"It's clear. C'mon Captain. Let's go find out who was here last."

Little did I know, those words would lead us to our most horrifying discovery of the day.

…

Or was it the week? I can never remember. Which is cooler, do you think? Day or week?

Actually, before you reply to that, why don't you read my squad-mates entries and make the decision yourself later.


	2. Chapter 2 Get the SAM 100 percent secure

**A/N**- For those of you whom are actually going to read this, congrats on getting this far without going crazy. I know I would, and I'm the author!

Anyways, I was serious about not knowing Grey or Gray. I've never found out.

And, in case you were wondering, yes, everyone on this squad is crazy in their own, personal way.

Also, don't try and overthink the metric system. If you do, your head might explode, if you aren't familiar with it. And please, go ahead and leave a review. I don't find many things insulting, especially if you happen to be right. If you are a flamer, then you should just bugger off.

* * *

_From the eyes of Private Hasana_

Lemme guess, LCPL totally forgot about me? And Sergeant Lachlan?

Eh, well, it's better than the time he completely forgot about _everybody _on our squad (except for Callahan) _even existing_…

But my side of the story. Right.

Well, me and Lachlan were moving up to the gate at 21.4 kilometers an hour, distinctly far away from Gautier as we could get, which was about 19.6 meters, although I'll admit, the stench made it to us in fair amounts. We were 21.5 meters away from Alessandro, which was close enough to Callahan to understand what he was saying. What I mean by 'understand' of course, is that we knew he was speaking English. Otherwise, we could never understand him.

Lachlan moved ahead of me and flanked the left side of the door with his assault rifle, as I moved up beside approximately 1.7 meters behind him with my battle rifle. He put three fingers up spaced 6 millimeters apart each and I immediately knew what he was going to do. He punched the controls for the door open and charged in below the rising gate, sweeping the area with his rifle. I came in .3 of a meter behind him and covered 82 degrees of his right hand flank. We both spent 3.8 seconds scanning the immediate vicinity and found nothing in sight. Nothing alive anyways.

"Captain, the center of the base seems tae be clear," Lachlan informed the Captain.

"Good Sergeant. See if you can find out if that missile pod is still functional."

Lachlan nodded his head twice, the first time at 36 degrees, the second at 44 degrees and replied, "Very good sir," and then lifted his hand 88 degrees, signaling for me to take point. I moved ahead 2.3 meters of Lachlan and walked forwards at 2.9 kilometers an hour, sweeping the grounds ahead with 67.2 degree motions. I took a 178.6 degree look around myself and saw two sides to the base. One side had the Lt moving at point with his team close behind, Ceteria at 1.3 meters and Callahan at 3.8 meters behind.

The other side contained signs of an evident struggle, taken place maybe 2.6 weeks ago. The spent shells hadn't moved much, for there were winds of only averaging at 1.6 kilometers an hour. The scoring on the walls was not from a plasma weapon though. The marks seemed to be from weapons of a 12 millimeter MD6 pistol, 5.56 millimeter Sub Machine Gun, 7.62 by 41 millimeter Assault Rifle and 9 millimeter Battle Rifle scores were all over the place, ranging from .02 meters off the ground to 4.2 meters up the wall. Many were obviously from 5.56 Sub Machine Guns, probably dual wielded at 84 degrees and 79 degrees, and a single user, approximately 3.6 meters away from the dual wielder. The dual wielder had apparently spent both clips, and single wielder spent 46 rounds from its Sub Machine Gun. The 7.62 and 9 millimeter scores were mostly around the entry way to the left-hand bunker, ranging only .6 meters off the door way, and into the door way, where all the 12 millimeter MD6 scores were. All the MD6 scores were in a diameter of 2.1 meters, and there were numerous spots of dried blood within the doorway, which were ranging from roughly .4 meters in circumference, to roughly 1.8 meters in circumference. There were no apparent 14.5 millimeter marks, which told me that the soldiers that attacked this spot did not contain a sniper in their midst, nor any shotguns, for I could not find any 8 gauge shells within the zone in which the majority of the assailants were firing. There was one rocket shell, which lead me to presume that the door to the bunker, which was now crumpled at innumerable angles 16.8 meters away from where it should have been, was blasted off with the 102 millimeter SPNKR shoulder mounted rocket launcher.

After analyzing the door way for 5.8 seconds, I turned my head 96 degrees to face the SAM turret, which was now 45.3 meters away. I approached the SAM site more quickly, now at 9.6 kilometers per hour, due to my 63 percent increase in nervousness and anxiety. I bet Lachlan could tell I was more nervous, but he neglected to say anything, which was polite of him.

"We're at the gate Captain. It is locked with a 16 millimeter thick chain and a master lock that is specifically designed to keep out intruders of an average male strength. Should we break it open?" I reported once Lachlan and I had made it to the door.

There was a pause and I patiently waited for an order for approximately 3.7 seconds. Finally, Captains voice came over the channel and replied, "Open the gate, but make sure that it isn't booby trapped."

That I could do. I searched the area, sweeping it with my eyes scanning an approximate 48.6 square meters a second. There were no 'booby traps', as the Captain referred to rigged Improvised Explosive Devices in such a 50 percent serious manner.

"There are no Improvised Explosive Devices in the area sir. Should we continue breaking in?" I informed Captain, after my sweep of the area.

There was another pause of about 4.2 seconds before Captain replied, "Go ahead Private."

I smiled at 15.3 degrees, which in all honesty, is more like a grin, and took hold of the gate at 44.9 degree angles with my hands. I then pulled with at least 104 kilograms of power, and the chains and lock broke off after .16 seconds with a decibel strength of 36. After the gate was open, I allowed Lachlan to enter and clear the area as I moved in behind him and to his right by 2.1 meters and 46.3 degrees behind.

"Sir, we've cleared the Surface to Air Missile Launcher site," I announced, with 86 percent optimism creeping into my voice.

* * *

Ahem...

Yes, that is Hasana's problem. She's too damn specific.

Also, Jones's problem, in case anyone was wondering, is a form of ADHD, and Multiple personality disorder. All of which was contracted from that planet that he couldn't remember the name of.


End file.
